Birds of Prey
by El-Maybonics
Summary: "Four women, forged in crucibles so different, and yet made so alike. Each one dedicated to righting the wrongs of the world. Hawkgirl, Katana, Black Canary, White Canary. Now they work for me; now they are the Birds of Prey. And who am I? Heh, girl's gotta have some secrets, right?"
1. Chapter 1

_A/N:-_ These characters are based upon how they appear on _Arrow_ and my own character choices, rather than any comic canon. All characters belong to DC comics, Warner Bros, whoever it is that owns them, and not me.

* * *

The flow of pedestrians slowed as more and more of them glanced upwards. The early morning sunlight, already bright and getting brighter and warmer with each passing moment, reflected back from hundreds of sheer glass panels that stretched high into a sky clear and blue. Buildings lined each side of the wide roads, like huge canyons of metal and glass, monuments of mankind's genius and ingenuity.

The young woman tutted with vexation at the slowing mill of people around her, and it took several moments for the murmur of their words to slide into her thoughts. She looked up too, then, following their gazes and pointed fingers; up a white faced building that seemed made of arches and pillars. Around the lip of the building, at some twelve stories high in her estimation, ran a balustrade, made of the same earthy white brick as the rest of the structure. And standing by the balustrade – standing so that the balustrade was behind them in fact, and they on the very lip – was the unmistakable form of a person.

The woman bit her bottom lip as she lowered her eyes from the figure above, glancing furtively around her. Not that anyone was watching her, nor did they have any reason to watch her, and they certainly did not notice as she quietly slipped away from the ever growing crowd.

* * *

They looked so small down there. Like ants, that had just had their hill kicked, swarming around, clumping together. So small, so tiny. So insignificant. How she envied them.

She crept another inch along the edge, the hard brick solid and reassuring beneath her tread. Even this high up, she could hear the unmistakable wail of sirens as they came steadily closer. Her name was Sharon Diggity, and she was sixteen years old. Sixteen, and never to get another day older.

Up here, the wind whipped at long strands of straw coloured hair as she leant over the edge again, one hand holding onto the firm barricade behind her, looking down at the crowd of onlookers below, and thought about how quickly she could be down there amongst them. This would be something they would talk about for months, maybe even years, but they would never know. They'd never know, and eventually they would forget and move on with their lives and forget that Sharon never would.

"Oh, that's a long way down."

The sudden voice surprised Sharon, and she grabbed hard onto the barricade to stop herself from slipping. Tentatively, she craned her head towards the source. Another woman, someone Sharon was sure she'd never seen before, occupied the roof behind her, leaning over the edge to stare down at the floor so very far away, a distinctly sick look on her face. The woman almost instantly straightened, and then did her upmost not to look down again. "Never been a fan of heights."

"You a cop?" Sharon managed to get out from dry lips.

The woman shook her head, long brown curls swaying. "Me? No," she replied. "I'm a waitress." She had dark skin, though a lot lighter than Sharon's own, and a wide smile tinged with a sadness she could understand, a sadness that seemed etched into her very being. And she certainly was dressed to match her words; Sharon could spot a cop a mile away, even one in plain clothes, and while this woman didn't look exactly like a civilian, she didn't look like police either.

"You're… you're not gonna try and talk me out of it are you?"

"Out of what?" the woman said. "You come up here to smoke too?" And true to her word, the woman turned her back on Sharon, resting the very edge of her butt on the barrier between then, and proceeded to light a cigarette. She took one deep breath, exhaling out a wide plume of white smoke. Within seconds the area around the pair stank of it. "I remember when you could smoke inside," the woman said conversationally. "So much has changed. Always changing, ever changing, that's the way the world works I guess. I'm Kendra, by the way. Sure you don't want one?"

Kendra offered the slim red packet towards Sharon, but the young girl shied away. Kendra shrugged, and the pack vanished into a pocket. She took another long draw, then dropped it on the floor and crushed it beneath her heel.

"So you come up here for the fresh air?" she asked, still not really looking at Sharon.

Sharon shook her head. "I'll do it," she said. "I'll do it." Only then did Kendra turn to face her.

"I believe you," she said simply. "It's all gone to shit, hasn't it? Something's come along and ruined everything, and it just seems the easiest way to make it all go away. Trust me, I've both been there and bought the proverbial T-shirt."

"Is this the part where you tell me it'll all get better?" Sharon spat, feeling her ire rise. Without realising, she placed one hand on her belly, as if she could feel through the layers of cloth and skin, feel through to the thing that had ruined everything.

"No, no," Kendra said. She was staring off into space, as if looking at something that only existed in memory. "Not every time. Not every time." She let out a long sigh. "So why don't you tell me about it?"

"You said you weren't out here to try and talk me down."

"I'm not," Kendra replied. "But I've still got twenty minutes left on my break, and that seems as good a way as any to kill time."

Sharon was about to snap off a retort, but then clamped her mouth shut instead. _What the hell, why not?_ It wasn't like it mattered. So she found herself telling Kendra, this stranger, all about Jimmy, all about how they had been in love (or so she thought), about how he had broken her heart and told her he wanted nothing to do with the life growing in her belly. About how she couldn't tell anyone. About how her parents would kick her out onto the streets without a second thought. About how her life was over now, how she'd never get into any half decent schools while trying to drag a kid around with her. About the fear of raising a kid when she was a kid herself.

Tears streamed down her face by the time she had finished. And Kendra listened, saying nothing, until she was done.

"So you're not gonna talk me out of it," she added, voice surprisingly firm.

"I know," Kendra replied. "I can see it in your eyes." She smiled again, a soft, almost sad, smile. Traces of damp appeared in the corner of her eyes. "Thank you for talking to me, Sharon. Sometimes talking helps." Then Kendra turned, and began to walk back towards the door that led to the stairwell.

Sharon turned back to the empty expanse before her. The air was warming up, though the breeze at this height kept a coolness flowing over her. She looked down again, seeing more people milling like ants, saw police cars and fire engines lining the streets, their lights flashing.

She leant forward, her hands leaving the barrier. Air whooshed by her as she plummeted, down, down, down, her arms outstretched and her eyes closed. In those seconds, which stretched for hours as she hurtled down, she saw it all in the blackness, relived it all. Reliving every second of her life, seeing the faces of her friends and her family, seeing the things that gave her great joy, seeing the things that gave her great sadness. Tears stung her eyes and breath caught in her lungs, and…

Something grabbed her, arms wrapping tight around her waist, and she suddenly found herself upright. There was a sound, like something large beating at the air, and her descent slowed. She opened her eyes, now keenly aware than someone was behind her, holding her, that someone had caught her on the way down. Her feet felt firm ground suddenly beneath them, and then the arms were off her. As she span, she heard another great beating sound, a rushing of air, and caught a glimpse of huge wings as her saviour soared back into the clear sky. Wings, and enough sight of the clothes the woman wore to know exactly who had caught her.

She knew one other thing too. She didn't want to die any more.

* * *

"… _top story; Midtown pulled to almost a complete stop during rush hour this morning, as a jumper leapt from the top of the Draze Bank. The unnamed youth was saved, however, by a mystery flying woman. That's right, folks, you heard that correctly; a flying woman. Rumours were quick to circulate that this may have been_ Supergirl _, the super powered heroine most associated with nearby National City. But those at the scene were quick to debunk that theory."_

" _Nah, I seen her, that weren't Supergirl. At least, no Supergirl I ever seen, unless she dyed her hair and grew wings. That weren't Supergirl, that was more like a hawk… girl!"_

Laurel closed the laptop, cutting off the sound of the news, and pulled the headphones from her ears. She glanced around her, eyes roving her fellow passengers. Families, groups of friends, the odd single traveller much like herself. The guy over in the corner, who looked half asleep; he looked large enough to make Dig feel inadequate. And those teens over there, giggling and bantering amongst themselves; in their numbers, they could overwhelm anyone else in the carriage. She wondered vaguely when she had begun to see the world around her and judge the threats it might hide. Probably not long after she'd begun training with Nyssa, if she had to guess.

Beneath her, the repetitive _thump thump thump_ of the train as it moved along the rails was reassuring, like a solid heartbeat, and she let it sink into her frame, soothing her.

The news of the day, of the flying woman saving the jumper, was troubling. Not for what it meant to the city of Keystone, but what it meant for Dinah Laurel Lance. She'd moved out here for one reason and one reason only; there was no place in Starling for her now. Not when it had Oliver, and Thea, and Dig, and Felicity, to keep it safe at night. And during the day, she had gone as far as a lawyer could before her career plateaued. Keystone would be a fresh start, for both of her lives. But this flying woman could spell trouble for her; it was going to be hard enough staking her claim to the city if someone else had beaten her to it. It was possible it was just a one off occurrence, one of those metas from Central City just passing through. It was even possible it was just Supergirl – she allowed herself a small smile at thinking of Supergirl as a 'just' – despite what the eyewitnesses had said.

She would have to find out, one way or another. And if the last few years of her life had been anything to go on, she did not imagine it would be long before she did find out.

The train shuddered as it slowed, pulling into Keystone's main station. The sun was just dipping low on the horizon, casting a soft pink hue to the sky. Within minutes, Laurel was out of the carriage, out of the station, and in a cab heading Uptown. As the cab wound its way through wide streets lined with tall buildings, Laurel gazed out of the window, trying to take it all in as much as possible. Nyssa had instilled in her that knowing one's surroundings was an important aspect of any fight, and she knew that held true for real life as well. Keystone, from what she could see, was little different than Starling, though this city lay on the banks of the Pacific Ocean, lending a tang of salt to the air for miles inland.

It was full dark when the cab reached its destination, and Laurel hauled her heavy suitcase from the trunk before glancing up at her new home. A four story brownstone amongst identical brownstones, it sat squat compared to the skyscrapers of Midtown, but had a warmth those monoliths could never hope to capture. Her new apartment lay on the top floor, and she had to drag her heavy case up the flights of stairs one by one; the old metal elevator had yellowed hazard tape barring any entry to it. Laurel wondered how long it had been out of use.

The apartment itself matched her old home in Starling in size; it had a living area that merged imperceptibly with the dining area and kitchen, a closed off bedroom far from the door, and a bathroom and linen closet besides it. There was even a spare room, which would no doubt double as her home office once she was set up. It felt larger than her old place, though that probably had something to do with the fact that most of her worldly possessions lay in large brown boxes, piled high where the movers had left them.

Unpacking would have to wait, however. She carried her suitcase into the bedroom, placing it on her bed, before opening the large wooden wardrobe. There, she would hang the armour of her day job; the suits that marked her as a member of the DA's office, the newly hired EADA of Keystone. There was another uniform she reached for now, though, unzipping the suitcase and pulling free the black leather jacket.

"Well, Laurel," she said to herself, voice barely a whisper, fingers working on the buttons of her blouse. "Let's show the world what you can offer."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N:-_ I still fail to own any of these characters, though I'd probably treat Laurel better than Guggenheim does.

* * *

It felt weird, hunting alone.

Ever since she'd first donned Sara's jacket and mask, Laurel had prowled the streets of Starling City looking for crime to prevent or punish, and sure a lot of the time she had been alone, but there was always the possibility that she may have run into Ollie, or even Roy. Now, Keystone City was open to her, and her alone, and she knew that no matter how much of a disadvantage she may find herself in, there would be nobody to pull her out of it. It gave her a thrill like no other, a thrill she could not put into words. A thrill she knew that no one but a fellow addict would ever truly understand.

She pulled back on the throttle, the Ducati Hypermotard beneath her roared louder, and accelerated. It was certainly the best way to travel quickly across a major metropolitan area, weaving in and out of the admittedly small amounts of traffic at this time of night. Wind whipped across the black-faced helmet fit snug over the blonde wig she wore to disguise her own brunette locks; inside that helmet a radio had been fitted that was tuned into the local KCPD dispatch frequencies.

She kept an ear out for anything that sparked her interest, but so far it had been nothing but a couple of domestic disturbances, and a street race. Nothing so far had what she needed; enough of a threat to warrant costumed interference, and nothing big enough for her to use to make an impact in the city. She needed that, if she were to make her own mark here. She chided herself for wishing for an Undertaking-level event, reminding herself sternly what that had taken from her.

She had crisscrossed most of Midtown's wide streets, zipping back and forth amongst the skyscrapers, when she finally heard what she wanted; a suspected drug dealer had shot the undercover officers who had attempted to arrest him, and was now fleeing in a red Mustang. And it, the report went on to say – and unless she had gotten completely turned around in this new city – had been last sighted not too far from her current location.

She gunned the throttle again, the engine roared once more, and she sped in that direction. Within minutes she was leaving Midtown, heading Downtown, and before her she could make out the flashing lights of a stream of police cars. They were all moving at top speed, but the Ducati ate up the ground between them in moments. Laurel wove the bike between speeding police cars, air whipping loud enough to hear each time she passed one.

Then she was out in front, with nothing on the road before her. No sign of the Mustang. Dispatch in her ear told her that the chopper high overhead had lost it as it went under the overpass of I-52. _Probably gone off the main road_ , Laurel thought. _That's what I'd do; get off the beaten path. More places to hide, more chances to escape._

The overpass neared with each passing second, and she slowed the bike. She halted completely when the heavy concrete bridge was directly above her, turning this way and that as she looked for clues as to where the dealer might have gone. Two story houses lined each side of the street, each one surrounded by varnished wood fences.

Seconds later, blaring sirens whipped passed her as the police sped by, not one of them even pausing to see if their quarry had attempted to allude them here. That didn't make sense, unless they had a report of a sighting of the Mustang further away. But Laurel would have heard that if they did. Besides, she had a… a feeling. There was no other way to describe it. Just a sensation that this was the place for her to be. Nyssa had talked of it before, called it a warrior's sense, but Laurel had not experienced it – not fully believed or understood it – until right now. Somehow, she knew in her gut that she was close.

Then she saw it; a gate in one of the fences just after the overpass. A gate wide enough to fit a car down, but close enough to the cover of the overpass to hide it from a pursuing helicopter. Laurel moved the bike to the fence, dismounting and pulling the helmet from her head. She could feel the oddly comforting sensation of the mask on her face, feel how it moulded to the contours of her features. And she could feel the weight of Cisco's device around her throat.

She unhooked the baton from where it hung at her hip, and began to walk towards the gate. She paused before it, glancing left and right. The street appeared deserted at the moment; no cars, no pedestrians, no nothing. A cool breeze drifted by her, bringing the taste of the ocean with it, and something else. A sense of the moment, as if something were about to happen. Then, steeling herself, she booted the gate open, and strode forward.

The man swung at her, but Laurel brought the baton up to deflect the baseball bat, cursing her overconfidence. He had been hiding on the other side of the fence, no doubt watching to see if his pursuers had found him, and watching as Laurel pulled up and just oh so casually sauntered over. If it hadn't been for hours of training – first at her dad's insistence, then with Ted, and finally with Nyssa – she'd probably be unconscious right now. And what a start to her Keystone career that would have been!

He swung again, a wide arching sweep that appeared almost to move in slow motion to Laurel. She deflected that again, the hard body of the baton connecting with the man's hand. He let out a curse, hand opening, the bat dropping from it to clatter on the loose gravel stone floor. She was about to strike again, this time fully offense, when she head the unmistakable sound of a hammer being cocked.

Without even looking around she whipped her hand back, the baton leaving her fingers. A second later there was the sound of impact, and another man grunted, then a deafening boom as the gun went off.

In the unnatural silence that followed, time seemed to slide to a halt. The man before her was so large that she barely came up to his chest, wearing a plain white A-shirt that showed off bulging muscles covered with tattoos, and a bald head also tattooed – Laurel instantly noticed the Swastika on the man's temples.

And she was aware of the man behind her, the one with the gun, no doubt bringing the pistol to bare on her again.

Time rushed as if to catch up with itself, and Laurel struck out, driving the sole of her boot into the big man's gut, using it to both strike him and push herself up and back, flipping over to land perfectly back on her feet, crouched down. She knew she had to keep moving, couldn't let the guy with the gun get a clear line of sight on her. He was the biggest threat right now, despite the tattooed man's size. She spun, and instantly dived to the right, rolling across the loose gravel, and into a crouch again. She had a good view of the shooter now; slender, wearing a dark red jacket, with a mop of brown hair atop a thin, rat like, face. He stood with the Mustang behind him. No doubt he was the dealer, and the big man his paid muscle.

Rat-face swivelled the gun to aim at Laurel, but she was already rolling, diagonally towards him, then she was up and sprinting. Closing the distance in seconds, she grabbed his wrist with one hand, pirouetted smoothly, jammed her shoulder under his armpit, and heaved. Rat-face flipped over, landing roughly on his ass and lower back, the air exploding from his lungs. Laurel kept hold of the wrist, twisting it, pressing her boot down on the man's chest as she hyperextended the arm. Race-face's grip on the gun loosened, and she slipped it from his grasp. Smoothly, she ejected the magazine, cleared the chamber, tossed all parts behind her, then drove her knee into Rat-face's head. She knew instantly that she had knocked the guy out.

But that just left the muscle. She looked over, saw him reaching for the baseball bat. He held it by the shaft in his left hand, opening and closing his right in an attempt to bring life back into bruised fingers.

"Don't need no masks 'round here," he said, glaring at Laurel.

"Don't need no bigots either," she responded, mimicking his speech patterns. "And I ain't leaving."

She flicked her eyes away from the man, searching for where her baton might lie, but couldn't see it. She'd have a harder time facing that bat without it. Of course, she had Cisco's device, but there was a time and a place for everything. Nyssa had also shown her that a little theatricality never hurt, and keeping some things a secret from your enemies couldn't hurt. And if she succeeded in making her mark on this city, there was no doubt that she would soon have enemies.

"You really need that to face a little girl?" she said, gesturing to the bat in the man's hands. He glanced down at it, then barked a laugh.

"I'm not stupid," was all he said, and quite pointedly didn't discard his weapon.

 _Oh well_ , Laurel thought, _it was worth a try_.

He crossed the distance between them quickly, frighteningly quickly, and swung the bat again. He was putting every ounce of his considerable power behind every attack, but was rough and untrained, his moves wide and telegraphed. She ducked, the bat swishing impotently through falling stands of her wig, then sprang back, flipping onto her hands, then over onto her feet again. She remained in a defensive posture, weary of the man. He might be rough and untrained, but it would only take one hit from that bat to put an end to her Keystone career before it had even begun.

The big man appeared just as weary as Laurel, thankfully; no doubt the swift way she had dispatched Rat-face worried him. But he was nothing if not pure muscle, with the overconfidence that brought with it, and a slow grin crept onto his face. His nose looked like it had been broken a couple of times in the past and never properly reset. This was a guy who had been in enough fights in his life.

He swung again, and Laurel darted right, then left as he attacked once more. Each time he attacked forced her back further and further, towards where the rear of the Mustang took up all of the narrow space between two houses. She was fast running out of time, unless…

He swung again, only this time she leaped for the rear of the car, turning in mid-flight to face it. Her legs bent beneath her, and she exploded upwards like a released spring, arching gracefully through the air over the surprised muscle. She landed in a crouch behind him, her legs almost giving way at the impact, but she managed to keep herself upright.

The big man turned, lumbering like an ox, and she met him with a spin kick, driving her heel into the side of his head. He staggered, winching visibly, but didn't go down. She struck out again, a backhand that staggered him once more.

Laurel growled in frustration. _This guy just won't go down_. She'd fought members of the League of Assassins, and this guy was giving her trouble? Maybe Keystone City wasn't the place for her after all!

The big guy threw a fist, and Laurel barely recovered from her thoughts enough to duck the wild thrust, spinning around and whipping a kick to the back of his legs. She put enough force into it to sweep the guy off his feet, and he landed roughly on his back. The bat clattered from his grip on impact, but Laurel was already on him, straddling his chest, driving a hard elbow right into his jaw, crushing his head against the ground. He groaned, struggling against her, and she slammed another elbow, and another, and another, against him. Finally, he stopped moving, blood trickling from a nose that had now been broken three times, his eyes closed and flickering.

Panting raggedly, Laurel pushed herself upright. She ached, her muscles burning from the fight, and she gulped down lungfuls of fresh air. She glanced around her, saw that Rat-face still lay where she had left him. Staggering slightly, she moved over to him, flipping him onto his belly and lashing his wrists behind his back with a pair of zip ties. Then she moved to the big guy – a bubble of blood was forming under one of his nostrils now – and did the same.

A moment's searched found her baton where it had skidded under the Mustang. She reattached it to her belt, then grabbed Rat-face by the arm. With a great deal of effort, she dragged him back towards the fence, out the gate, and onto the sidewalk, where she dumped him unceremoniously on the kerb. She did the same with the big guy, though he took considerably more effort, and by the time she was done, her back ached. She was looking forward to a bath when she got back to her apartment.

In the distance, she could hear the unmistakable sounds of approaching sirens; whether the pursuing police had decided to double back, or if these were others no doubt alerted by the earlier sound of gunshots, she did not know. She did know that she shouldn't stick around to find out. She…

Instantly, she spun, reaching for her baton. And relaxed, releasing the breath she had not even realised she held as soon as she realised someone was standing behind her, watching her. The woman before her was familiar; at least, the outfit she wore was. Black and red leather, a stark white mask with a single red dot at the forehead, framed by dark hair. A curved blade hung in a scabbard at her waist.

"Tatsu," said Laurel, by way of greeting. "You could have helped me carry the big one."

Though the mask was expressionless, Laurel had the distinct impression that Tatsu Yamashiro was not smiling. "Laurel," she said, her voice accented. "You must come with me."

"Is this an… an Ollie thing?" Laurel said, barely whispering the last as she glanced around her to ensure they were not overheard. She should have called him the Arrow, should have insisted on being called Black Canary when she wore the mask, but she was just too new at this, and if she was honest, the other woman's presence had thrown her off balance.

Tatsu shook her head. "No, I do not speak for Oliver Queen in this. But I do speak for someone who wishes to talk with you."

Laurel sighed. She got the sense that she would get no more from Tatsu if she pressed. Instead, she gestured to her bike with a nod of her head. "You need a ride?" she asked.

* * *

Laurel pulled the Ducati up before the building, killing the engine. Tatsu unwrapped her arms from around Laurel's waist, climbing off the back of the bike. The pair had earned a few confused glances by the spattering of drivers and pedestrians still out at this time; admittedly, most of those had been for Tatsu's mask and the sword she carried. Laurel had not had a spare helmet to offer the other woman.

Tatsu removed her mask, revealing big brown eyes that spoke of a loss that Laurel felt she could understand. "You will not need your mask," Tatsu said.

Laurel observed the other woman a moment, considering. Just because Tatsu knew who she was did not mean she was willing to flaunt her identity to the rest of Keystone City. Her attention turned to the building they stood before; nine or ten stories high, it was much like a plain grey box, dotted with windows, and a wide red band running along the top. From the sign that stood by the side of the hedges that surrounded the property, this was office space, home to several different businesses. That decided her, and she slipped the disguise from her face; it would look suspicious to see masked people wandering around a place of business. No doubt there were CCTV cameras and overnight security in a place like this.

That assumption proved to be correct; a guard sat behind the reception desk, feet up in front of him, eyes heavily lidded as he watched a monitor before him. Idly he scratched at the paunch that stretched the dull blue shirt of his uniform, and didn't even look up as Tatsu strode purposefully across the foyer, Laurel not far behind her.

The pair reached the bank of elevators that stood behind the reception area, waited for the first to arrive, then rode it up in silence. The elevator shuddered as it reached the top floor.

Laurel stepped out, glancing up and down the white carpeted corridor. There appeared to be four or five doors that led to individual offices, and Tatsu was already moving towards one at the far end. She paused by the thick wooden door, and Laurel noted that the nameplate was bare. The other woman's expression was as unreadable as it had been all night, but Laurel could not help the feeling that trepidation that fluttered in her breast.

"You are strong, Laurel," Tatsu said. "You need to remain strong now." Then she pushed open the door.

Inside opened up into a wide square office space, one short corridor running directly away from then, and another running to the left. That corridor to the left, the far wall was all glass, showing through into a smaller central room that – from the large table, multiple chairs, and wide bank of television screens she could just make out – appeared to be a meeting room. More doors lined the second corridor before them, though what lay beyond those doors she could not tell.

Movement in the meeting room caught Laurel's attention. Someone rose from a chair that had just been out of view, crossing into focus. She saw a female shape, with curls of blonde hair. That woman's back was to her, apparently focussed on a selection of coffees and biscuits that lay on trays on the middle of the table, but Laurel felt a lump forming in her throat. She tried to swallow. Her lips were dry, so suddenly dry, her skin cold. She could hear her heart beating, loud in her ears, _thump thump thump_.

Even as the woman turned, she knew whose face she would see. The words slipped from her lips in barely a whisper.

"Sara?"


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N:-_ Still not my characters. No siree bob.

* * *

Tatsu's hand around her wrist was like a vice. No matter how harshly Laurel tugged against it, she could not shake the woman's grip.

Mouth dry, she turned eyes she knew must be wide and unbelieving towards Tatsu. "Let me go," she managed to croak, forcing the words out with effort. "That's my sister."

"There is someone who must speak to you first," Tatsu said. For all the force she used to hold Laurel, she did not look especially strained. Laurel had the distinct impression that were she to elevate her attempts to escape, Tatsu would meet her step by step, and surpass her at every one. She thought about shouting, calling Sara's name, attracting her sister somehow, but given the gravelly result of her last attempt to speak, she rather thought it might come out as little more than a squeal.

She gulped, forcing the lump in her throat down. "My sister," she pleaded again. The last time she had seen Sara was back in Ollie's foundry, laid out on a table, an arrow sticking out of her gut, and blank eyes staring at nothing. She remembered the cold clamminess of her sister's skin as she had carefully caressed her cheek, while numbness filled Laurel's gut. Dead. Dead and gone, and the light of the world gone with her.

It had been Sara's death that had first urged her to take up the mantle of the Canary. The last year had been a long struggle for Laurel, the rage she felt at the indignity of her sister's death – as little more than a pawn in Malcolm Merlyn and Ra's al Ghul's sick game of chess – threatening to overtake her at every step. But Laurel had persevered, survived, adapted. Found a new reason to wear Sara's jacket beyond simple revenge.

"How is she…?" she tried, but the words caught in her throat again. Wild eyes swivelled back to Sara, but her sister had moved from sight again. Laurel tried to move to follow, but Tatsu's grip increased.

"In time," Tatsu said. There was a hint of something in her voice, something that spoke of someone speaking to a child. _No_. Laurel amended that. A mother's sympathy, and patience. Tatsu had lost everything over the last few years; first her son, dead in her arms; then her husband, dead by her hand. Laurel imagined that she would crack if she had been forced through what the other woman survived. "There is someone you need to speak to first."

Laurel let Tatsu drag her away from the conference room, down the other short corridor, towards the plain door at the far end. On the other side was a small office, not much larger than her new one in the DA's office. A roughly oblong shape, one wall held a window with a view out onto the darkened streets of Keystone, where Laurel could see the high structures of Midtown dominating the landscape. A heavy oaken desk, varnished dark, stood near that window, with a flat screen monitor, keyboard, and a host of other office stationary upon it, while a high backed leather chair sat between the desk and the window. The right wall was lined high with row upon row of thick tomes – a quick glance told her these were mostly law books. She owned most of the ones here herself. Opposite the bookcase, and filling almost all of the other wall, was the largest TV screen Laurel had seen in her life, and she'd seen the TV's the Merlyn's and the Queen's owned!

The room was also, quite obviously, empty.

"So who is this person I need to speak to?" Laurel demanded, already turning back towards the door. Almost as soon as her words had finished, the large TV screen blinked into light. Streams of what looked like computer code, bright green against a black background, cascaded down the screen. A moment later something swelled inside the code, diverting its path, until what appeared to be a face swam into focus. It was a female face, heartshaped, but with blank eyes and a stillness that revealed it to be a mask – or at least, a representation of one.

"Greetings, Laurel," the face said through motionless lips; female, no doubt, but fed through a voice changer, not unlike the one Cisco had added to the device around Laurel's throat.

Laurel turned to the screen, her face hardening, and she crossed her arms across her chest. "How is my sister alive?" she demanded.

For all its static appearance, there was the slight impression that the mask smiled slightly. "Straight to the important questions," the mask said. "But perhaps not the best place to start. For that, I think we should start with who I am.

"You can call me Oracle. Over the last few months, I have… been forced to reassess the way I deal with my family business. There are many things I cannot do. But what I can do, better than probably anyone else, is offer support and overwatch to any number of costumed crime fighters the length and breadth of the city."

"Can't say I've ever heard of you," Laurel said. She realised she should feel silly, staring hot daggers at a TV screen that probably couldn't even see her, but that didn't stop her.

Again, that hint of an amused smile. "I work very exclusively. Some heroes don't need me; your friend Oliver Queen has the young Miss Smoak to fill many of the services I can offer."

"I don't understand," Laurel said, trying to put as much confusion into her voice as she could manage. "What's this about Ollie?"

"I already know that Oliver Queen is the Arrow," the mask – Oracle – replied casually.

Laurel rounded on Tatsu. "That was not your secret to tell," she hissed.

"It was not Tatsu," Oracle said. "I figured it out. Didn't take me long; when you're trained by the best, most mysteries aren't all that mysterious. Really puts a cramp on reading Agatha Christie, I'll tell you that."

There was a brief pause. "Anyway, from there, is was a short skip to figuring out that you, Miss Lance, were the Black Canary, and Roy Harper was Arsenal. I can't figure out who Mr Queen's new sidekick is, though. For a while I thought it might be Queen's half-sister, but that's just preposterous."

It took all of Laurel's effort to school her face to emotionless. She silently thanked her years at the bar – the legal one, not the other kind.

"Anyway, this place is one of my properties; I own several around the country, through several dummy companies. Usually, it's a place for those I assist to regroup, stay low, or put in any research they may require. When Ms Yamashiro chose Keystone City as her latest place to inhabit, I reached out. I needed some assistance in dealing with a few of the more unsavoury types that Keystone can attract, and Tatsu was more than willing to offer her assistance. What began as a onetime deal soon escalated. Unfortunately, Tatsu has something of a single mindedness towards crime fighting, and I could only ask for her assistance when the ends justified those means. So I was forced to look elsewhere."

"Wait a minute," Laurel exclaimed. "Are you trying to tell me that I only got my job with the DA's office so you could have a hero in Keystone!?"

"Of course not, Ms Lance," Oracle said, taken aback by the accusation. "You earned that job by yourself – apparently, you were even actively head hunted. I had not yet cultivated a contact I believed could be good for this city, but when I found out you were on your way here, I knew I could not pass up such a fortunate coincidence, and had been preparing to reach out after you had established yourself. Unfortunately, something happened just a few days ago that almost changed that schedule."

"My sister," Laurel breathed.

"I found her three nights ago," Tatsu said. "There was a disturbance, and Oracle asked me to investigate. When I arrived, I found Sara was the cause of the disturbance; she had taken down a gang of traffickers, freeing the women they had attempted to enslave. But she did not know me, barely knew herself."

"And she will not know you," Oracle added, and Laurel's heart dropped. "She knows her name is Sara, nothing more, though she has retained her fighting abilities, and her dedication that no woman should suffer at the hands of men. How she is alive, she does not know; she is not even aware she were ever dead."

"But I have to tell her," Laurel said, turning for the door. Tatsu moved, putting herself between Laurel and the doorway. "She'll remember me," she pleaded to the other woman. "She has to. If I tell her who she is, she'll remember."

"I'm afraid you can't do that," Oracle said. "We don't know what happened to her, but given who she used to ally herself with, it's highly likely a Lazarus Pit was involved. And we just don't know enough about that, what it does to a person. Especially a person who was all the way dead, like Sara was."

"Please, Laurel," Tatsu said. "Oracle has the right of this. We cannot know what effect the truth would do to Sara. Until we know, or until she remembers by herself, we must not tell her."

"The last time I kept something from someone I loved," Laurel spat, "it almost ruined our relationship forever."

"And you need to keep this secret for the same reason," Oracle said. "To protect your sister."

Laurel sagged. Her father's words swelled in her head, words he had spoken when she was only nine, and her sister a few years younger. They had been at the park, playing on the seesaw, and the bright sunlight glared above them. _Look after your sister, Laurel_ , he'd said. _Look after your sister_.

"I don't like this," she muttered.

"I understand," Oracle said.

Laurel let out a long sigh. "So, if you want my help, why don't you tell me who you are?" she asked.

The emotionless mask barked a laugh. "Girl's gotta have some secrets," she said.

* * *

Sara looked up as the door to the conference room slid open, and the two women stepped inside. Laurel forced back the urge to run to her sister, to take her in her arms, to stroke her hair and tell her it was all going to be alright. It was the complete and total lack of recognition that halted her feet.

Her sister rose, and Laurel realised she wore a variation of the Canary outfit she had during life, only this one was a lot less brazen around the chest, and starkly white where the other had been black as night.

"Tatsu," Sara said brightly. "Who is your friend?"

Laurel interjected with her name, and Sara gave hers back. Just _Sara_ , as Oracle had said.

"Are you a hero too?" Sara asked.

"Yes," Laurel replied, though she had never really connected that word with herself. What she did, she did because it was needed, not to be a hero. "They call me Black Canary."

Sara cocked her head to one side. "They…" she began, then flicked her eyes to Tatsu. "I have been called _Ta-er al-Safar_. It means Yellow Bird… a canary."

"You remember this?" Tatsu asked, but Sara shook her head.

"I don't… I don't know, it just popped into my head just then. But I know it as surely as I know my name." She turned back to Laurel. "I don't think I'm someone who believes in coincidence, and this is too big of one. And when you came in… you looked at me as if expecting me to know who you were?" There was a pleading to Sara's voice, and Laurel almost broke there. It was only Tatsu's upheld hand, out of Sara's sight, that stopped her.

"We have met," Laurel said, looking at Tatsu. She paused, choosing her words carefully, then looked back at her baby sister. "You saved me, once. I was at my lowest; I had lost so much, almost given up on everything, spiralling down and down and down, and then suddenly you were there. The Canary. The hero I needed. You saved me, Sara. Pulled me out of the darkness. So I became the Black Canary. For you, to honour you, who had saved me when I didn't really believe I deserved saving." Every word was the truth. But it was not the whole truth and nothing but the truth. _I can't tell her_ , Laurel thought, hating every second of it. _It might kill her to know_.

Sara grinned. "I think I like you Laurel," she said. Laurel smiled back, unable to find the words. She was saved by the large bank of monitors at the head of the table blinking into light, revealing the now familiar visage of Oracle.

"Oops," said Sara, sliding quickly into a chair. "Boss lady's here."

Laurel took a chair on the opposite side of the table, across from her sister. Tatsu remained standing, still, like a statue.

"If you've all finished introducing yourselves, I need your help," Oracle said. One of the monitors switched, to show silent footage of the news, replaying the story from earlier that morning. The flying woman who had saved the girl. "I'm sure everyone knows what happened in Keystone City this morning? This is the flying woman, the newest hero on the scene."

"Are you sure it's not Supergirl?" Laurel asked.

"No," Oracle replied. "I know who Supergirl is. This isn't her."

"You know who Supergirl is?" Laurel breathed, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.

"Yes, but this is not one of my secrets to tell."

Laurel fought the disappointment.

The monitor shifted again, this time to show a high angle of a rooftop. The footage was blurry, as if taken from a great distance, and zoomed in passed clarity. What was clear, though, was the young girl standing on the other side of the balustrade, ready to jump. As they all watched, another woman exited from the stairwell, moving close to the girl. There was a few moments as they spoke – there was no sound, so Laurel could only assume they spoke – then the newcomer turned and walked off. She was halfway to the door leading back into the building when she paused. The indecision was palpable even through the quality of the footage. A moment later she turned around and sprinted back towards the ledge even as the girl was throwing herself off. The woman dived after her, and wings appeared to sprout from her shoulder blades; large avian wings, all feathers and wingspan.

"Where did those come from?" That hoarse whisper came from Sara, who stared enraptured at the footage.

"No idea," said Oracle. "And I really don't like not knowing things. Anyway, here's some footage from earlier."

CCTV footage replaced the overhead shot, this time of a bustling side walk. The camera zoomed in on one woman, wearing the same ensemble as the flyer. She paused, like those around her, staring up at something high and out of shot. Then she glanced nervously around herself, and vanished into an alleyway.

"Shouldn't be too hard to figure out who she is," Sara said. "Just backtrack where she started from, simple as that."

"I already know who she is," Oracle said. "That's not why I asked you, Tatsu, and Laurel here."

"What is?" Tatsu asked. She had not moved, her face emotionless.

More footage, this time in what appeared to be a darkened warehouse. Laurel had been in enough of those over the last few months. A woman strode confidently into the middle of the floor space. She wore what appeared to be the breastplate of some ancient piece of armour, and a helmet with an obvious beak and plumes of feathers sweeping up like wings. Those were not the only wings she had; on her back, much like the flying woman before, were large feathered wings, folded up like a bird would when not in flight.

"Same woman?" Laurel asked.

"Same woman," Oracle confirmed. "Watch what happens next."

One the screen there was sudden movement, and a dozen or more black shapes, clearly human but swathed in darkness, spilled from the shadows towards the woman. There was a flash of light as multiple swords were drawn.

"Ninjas," Tatsu said, even as the battle was joined. The woman on screen fought back, clubbing at her attackers with a long handled weapon. Its head was a solid ball of metal, spiked dangerously. It collided with skulls and bones with a violence that could be felt even through the monitors.

"Wow," Laurel found herself saying. "They do say women should carry Mace to protect themselves."

Sara let out a snort of laughter, her face beaming, and once again Laurel reinforced her hatred for the man who had taken her light from the world.

The laughter was short lived, though, for on the screen the ninjas – with their superior numbers – soon overwhelmed the woman. She fought back valiantly, but was soon covered by a mass of black cloth, and slowly dragged away. The footage froze.

"And that's why I need you," Oracle said, over the image of the woman, screaming in defiance. "I need you to find this woman, and help her."


End file.
